Doll
by A Rainha
Summary: A tale about Sam and the dolls. Wincest. To Girlyghoul. COMPLETE
1. lipsticks and dolls

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

_**Warning: Wincest. Inappropriate language (really?). Two or three chapters, no more. **__**Second season (probably).**_

_To Girlyghoul, my beta!_

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**MY DOLL **

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**A tale about Sam and dolls. **

"Time to leave this place."

"Jerk!" Sam came over and wiped the corner of Dean's mouth. A spot of Elvis' Pink Cadillac lipstick with that typical gloss shine had just slipped out, forming a slug trail toward his cheek.

"Bitch!" Dean replied, slapping his brother's hand from his face.

"You should thank me. Looked like you just ate a roast chicken and had no time to use the napkin." Sam had a casual smile, looking at the tips of his smeared fingers while heading to the Impala.

"Maybe that is exactly that I have done, little brother." Already in the driver's seat Dean looked at the younger man, turning the car on with a perverted smile on his lips. He sang, teasing his brother: "_You eat your dinner, eat your pork and beans, I eat more chicken any man ever seen…_"

Sam blushed.

"Hey! Right! Someone here never experienced a roast chicken...!" Dean grinned.

Sam wiped his stained fingers on his jeans, frowning as a sign of displeasure with the feeling. But even so had rosy cheeks and a Mona Lisa smile hanging on his lips.

"Dean ... that's not it…" the dark haired man pledged, hoping his big brother didn't persist with the subject. But as always when Dean had a girl and Sam was left in the room watching TV or at the laptop, the blond man was in great mood and very willing to make the next miles fun-filled.

"Ok, ok, then a dollar for your thoughts! If it doesn't have to do with roast chicken, I'll apologize to you."

"You'll have to ask on your knees."

"Only if you cheat."

"You will not like what you will hear ..." Sam warned, turning to face his brother. Dean glanced up from the road, somewhere between concerned and curious.

"Just say it. What did a bit of lip gloss make you remember?"

"You. Wearing lipstick. When we played with dolls in the old Dukakis manor."

It was all Dean could do not to stop the car suddenly, choking on his own silly smile he was flashing. The car came to glide a few meters by the side of the road until the driver straightened it out on the road again. Now it was time for Sam to open a delightful smile from ear to ear. He had managed to get to Dean even faster this time. There was a minute of silence and Dean knew any longer would be proof of his defeat and shame, so he tried to manage with a laugh that sounded much more nervous than it should:

"Man, what a memory, huh! Heck!"

"Uhun ..." muttered, concise and provocative. Sam kept his arms crossed with an absent look. He could see that Dean was upset and annoyed only by the reddening flush up by his neck, and ears. But somehow, knowing that Dean also remembered made Sam feel a strange heat in his belly. He had forgotten everything about that until this day, when rubbing his thumb over the smeared spot on Dean's face. Of course Dean had also forgotten that until now, like him. But the images were coming so, so vivid in Sam's mind...

Dean looked askance at his baby brother again, and in his last pathetic attempt to deny his embarrassment, said casually:

"It was because I'm the most awesome big brother of the world."

"Uhun ..."

_Flashback on _

_The case that initially appeared to be ghosts evolved into something much more mysterious and, although the bleak and desolate landscape didn't excite John enough, there was something in the depths of the forest and not at the old-Dukakis manor, that was terrorizing the small town. _

_Unfortunately, Sam had gotten cut on an old wagon wheel, the rusty thing almost turned to dust. Dean had been petrified while the younger boy was bleeding. But after Sam was properly stitched and medicated, John decided what the boys needed was some respite in a warm place, not in the backseat of the Impala. Not in Winter._

_The old house had been abandoned for nearly 15 years by the last two remnants of a wealthy and arrogant family full of odd mannerisms. But come on, it was stable, the fireplace worked, and Dean could find a way to make it comfortable as long as needed. They were nomads after all. And then John ventured into the white landscape and the boys took refuge in the upstairs of the decadent mansion. _

_Sam still had a minor fever, threatening to return higher than the previous day, and was absolutely bored and irritable because of the stitches in the arm. Dean wanted to keep him in the heated room, close to the fireplace, but the truth was that there was no more fun in poker or any other cards games. And no, there was absolutely no television nearby. _

_And now Dean was in the bathroom down the hall, trying to bathe in the precarious conditions provided for them at the time. _

_Then Sam jumped out of bed, wrenching up the blankets and sleeping bags that Dean had prepared for them. He was already familiar with the smell of mold. He felt a little dizzy, thinking that might have gotten out of bed too fast, but soon things become clear again. He went to the closet. For some gloomy reason, there were still mothballs in there from long ago that all still had that strong odor and it burned in the nostrils, mixed with the dust and mold. Sam saw all the old clothes, things dating back to his Dad's golden days, bright and extravagant fabrics, strange and grimy clothes. He passed his fingers through those clothes observing the figure that the stained glass in the closet reflected: himself, a boy who still had a pudgy face and was all mouth and hair. _

_With effort he pushed with the tips of his fingers a hat box from the top shelf, only to tip its contents over his own head. The smell of sweet, musky scent of old roses almost choked him. He had just brought down a dozen of toiletries: cases of rice powder, eye shadows and blush, that broke apart upon contact; lipsticks and little things that rolled across the dusty floor. _

_Sam bent down to collect what was left, upset he had broken the objects. The house was abandoned, but still had an owner, he knew. And then, just as he crouched, Sam saw a large and dusty suitcase beneath the clothes. He crawled through the clothes to reach it, because he felt too weak to pull it, especially with only one hand. _

_He opened the locks, sitting on the floor. His disappointment was huge. There was nothing but a pile of small human figurines, packed into their boxes as if they were in their sarcophagi. They were dolls. Dolls. Small dolls- dozens of them. _

_"What the hell!" he unburdened himself, rubbing his burning eyes from the dust in the closet. He searched between the boxes, trying to find some more interesting toy. But there were only dolls- all dressed in costumes of different nationalities. _

_"Dean!" he called, trying to make his voice as loud as possible. He had to call three times before his brother swept away some clothes on hangers and stuck his face in between them, smelling of soap: _

_"Damn Sam! What the hell...! You will now need to take a shower and honestly ... what the heck is it?" _

_"Help me. I cannot drag it back out of the closet." _

_"But what the hell do you want it for, Sammy? ... Are they dolls?" _

_"They are." Sam could find a use for them and at least he would have something different to do. He didn't get intimidated by Dean's perplexed and amused look and rubbed his eyes again. They were already reddened from excessive dust, the inflammation that still didn't completely go away from his constant rubbing. _

_"Can you help? Each doll has a different nationality. I want to see them." _

_Dean still frowned in disbelief. _

_"Come on, get out of there. All this mold will kill you... and... dude, these are dolls! You're gonna play with dolls now?" _

_Sam bent his head to the side facing his brother and looked at him with sweet puppy eyes; coincidentally and conveniently, a coughing seizure from the dust attacked him. _

_"Okay, Samantha! Get out. You will need a shower after playing with your dolls." _

_Sam was unaffected by the provocations. His curiosity was piqued and he knew that Dean would change his mind. _

_Sam marched out of the closet and sat on the bed, waiting for Dean to drag the large suitcase to the center of the room. The elder checked the content with curious disdain, keeping some distance from the case, rooting with his foot and spreading the small boxes on the floor around the trunk. _

_Once he passed the toys to Sam, the smaller boy was taking the dolls and laying them out in rows. And it took a long time. _

_Sam felt Dean staring curiously at him, now splayed in bed with his legs out. Observing Sam's slow and focused movements. Sam liked to be meticulous. He was organizing the nationalities alphabetically. And when he was not sure what nationality the doll was, asked for the older boy's opinion: _

_"And this one, Dean?" _

_Dean stared at the doll with long black hair, red dress with a green belt. _

_"Who knows? Mexican?" _

_"That's one is the Mexican!" Sam was sullen thinking Dean was not present. _

_He sighed. "She's Italian, maybe." _

_"Whatever." Dean tried to give an encouraging smile, but all he got was an even angrier Sam. _

_"Could you play with me, Dean?" Sam burst out. He was in agony with the symptoms of his body fight against inflammation, feeling neglected and unsupported. His shallow eyes filled with tears that overflowed in seconds, as much as he wanted to avoid that. The heat that afflicted him only increased, he curled up like an animal who seeks relief, moaning in frustration because he could not contain his tears. His injured arm began to throb. _

_Soon the older brother was raising the youngest in the air, shaking his shoulders and trying to get his attention; Dean put his hands against the hot cheeks of his baby brother: _

_"Hey Sam! Hey, Listen! All right. Hey dude! I'll play! Ahn! I'll play! But how about we eat first? And you definitely need a bath. It will be evening soon. Ok? I'll play, Sammy! Don't be like this... " _

_Dean was nervous but calmed down a bit when he saw the boy stop pouting with his promise. _

_"I'll heat the water for your bath and then we'll have dinner. Maybe she's Colombian ... I'd say she is Colombian, Sam. _

_The younger brushed the hair from his sweaty forehead to face his brother. He opened a weak smile, but wanted it to be a bigger smile. Dean rubbed his head before leaving the room. _

_The doll definitely seemed Colombian, the younger boy thought. _

_... _

_Sam left the bathroom, wrapped in a towel running on his toes into the room. The food (a pack of sliced bread, peanut butter and a box of strawberry flavored milk) were on the table of the room near the window. But there was no sign of Dean. _

_The boy felt the apprehension immediately reach his chest. The absence of his brother did not look good. He dressed quickly, looking over his shoulders. _

_Dean ...?" _

_The anxiety was growing as silence fell upon the house. Dean did not have much to do in the other room, it was chilly, and if he had gone to the bathroom, they would have met, right? _

_"Dean!" _

_He made uncertain steps towards the closet, whose door was still ajar and which gave off the disastrous smell of roses and old musk. It reminded Sam of coffins and old ladies, two things that he had no sympathy for. New tears welled up in his eyes, his mouth trembled. _

_"Dean... please... Show yourself." _

_He heard the rustle of fabric and his heart sighed something between panic and relief. _

_"BOOOOOO!" _

_"You big jerk!" the younger Winchester managed to pretend that Dean's triumphant leap from behind the clothes had not scared him at all. But his eyes were dull and squeezed shut and his arms covered his head. But while the anger and shame made him pull himself together quickly, the picture that was in front when he opened his eyes surprised him: his older brother was wearing a nightgown over his clothes. A nightgown and lipstick and a towel over his head as if it were hair. _

_Sam rubbed his eyes again. Dean had laughed, but now he was serious. In fact, a little embarrassed smile clung in his lips clumsily painted with dark pink lipstick. He spoke in a low, shy voice, staring at the younger boy:  
"Where did this doll came from, Sammy?" _

_Sam cupped his mouth with both hands, stifling his laughs: _

_"From another planet!" _

_Dean laughed too. They shared their dinner and returned to bed, between the dolls. The towel from Dean's head was long lost and he wasn't anxious to put it back on: _

_"You are very very bad with your dolls, Samantha. Look at the head of this one." He got into place among the collection, carefully adjusting the lacy nightgown around his body and lying like a corpse in a coffin. His green eyes looked heavy and tired. Sam crawled across the bed to sit beside him. _

_"You're the prettiest." _

_The older boy raised an eyebrow thinking to protest, but felt Sam's finger touching his lips and fell silent. His baby brother was putting more lipstick on Dean's mouth with great care, though without much skill. But Sam was meticulous. Dean just closed his eyes, allowing Sam to do what he wanted. He could feel the heat exuding from the younger's body and knew he still had a fever. Was afraid that it gotten worse. He felt he wasn't able to take Sam to the hospital with that weather. Not alone. But then he lay there, glad to have peace again, and getting full of hope. And if at first he imagined himself ridiculous and clumsy, little by little there was that sweet and strange feeling that caught him at times, a lonely melancholy who neither Sam nor his father could fill, but that was related to missing, missing his Mom much. Maybe it was the smell of those old and odd things, maybe it was Sam's gaze on him, like he remembered looking at his Mom as she brushed her hair, or put lipstick on her lips. He felt not like crying, Dean just remembered things of old and faded in his young life. And it was the heat from Sam that let him know that this was not a dream. __And the heat coming from Sam was disturbing. _

_Sam stared at his work on Dean's lips and watched as the freckles disappeared into the fair skin because of the strong color contrasting against the face. Watched the design of those full lips and long lashes of his closed eyes, the collar of the lacy gown around his brother's neck, clashing with the short and spiky dark blond hair. Those luxurious painted lips drew his attention completely and indeed turned Dean, his brother, into someone different. Someone different and beautiful. It was something unreal and strange, Dean allowing that, Dean accepting that he simply... made him his doll. And somehow, that vision was disturbing. _

_Flashback off _

TO BE CONTINUED

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	2. satin dresses

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PART 2

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"This is something about control issues, you know?"

"Huh?" But what the hell are you talking about? " Dean left the strange memories aside, with a shock. Sam pointed to an advert board for a hotel on the roadside. Historic inn with promotional rates in low season. Full board.

"They seem desperate for guests, but we can eat well for a change." Dean adopted the idea, but apparently Sam had not given up the later subject.

"You know. I know you liked that. That day. You liked to have someone watching over you for a change."

"Oh God, Sam, still mumbling about _that_?" Dean made a face, avoiding the subject once again, much more intrigued that Sam was still wondering exactly what he was thinking. On how damn good it was. "Do you think I need someone just to keep tucking me in and feeding me, singing lullabies to me and drooling at my face?"

"And making you up." Sam added, graciously glancing to Dean. A glance meaning he would not mind being called emo, Samantha or even bitch about it.

"Dude, you need therapy. Who the hell thinks of their own brother as their personal Barbie?"

Sam just cocked his eyebrow in response, suggesting many things...

Dean shuddered, thinking about it. Certainly, the years passed and everything had an awful lot of _very wrong_ and _sick! _the more Dean thought about it, with the eyes of an adult.

The car slid on the gravel in the hotel courtyard, another old inn in the sequence of old things and stories of other people; it was their life. The Winchesters had no home, no names, and there was a constant pressure for movement that pushed them always forward; and the only breaks were just long enough to recover and move on. And Dean lost focus for a moment, thinking he was like the guy in the barrel, trying to control the direction while descending the Niagara Falls.

"Oh dude, you have no idea how creepy this conversation is turning." He got out of the car, things were not as funny as he thought they would be on this morning.

Sam picked up speed to follow the older man, the earlier feeling in his belly now turning into something uncomfortable; but Sam was so, he could not simply ignore anything.

"You know, Dean: you like, have all these things you say you love... Your classic rock, the car and... all this... this vehemence, is so weird that I don't think you can say that liking dolls is all that strange. And besides, it was not the dolls. It was you."

Dean wanted to scream, _I dressed as a doll! _But the face of the hotel clerk knowing all he had heard from this conversation was bad enough.

"Double room, king-sized bed?" The man asked, anticipating as if to prove his efficiency and total lack of prejudice. Dean just cocked an eyebrow at his brother, and sighed, tired:

"Whatever."

And as they went to the room, Dean wondered if that anxiety, that heat he felt every time he thought of himself lying there and ridiculous and happy, carefree and confident- still feeling Sam's little fingers slipping over his closed eyes careful and lightweight- if it was more than love of brothers, if it was also desire. And if that was it, that explained it a lot.

That memory had powdered his skin with the same dust that made his lips tingle when Sam passed his lipstick glossy fingers over Dean's mouth. Lipstick was so wrong- as wrong Sam saying _I'll take care of you now_, whispering in his ear and Dean becoming faint with those sticky hot kisses on the cheek, head, neck, ear...

"What the hell is that?" Dean pointed to the dress on the bedroom wall, the first thing he saw when he opened the door. Sam scratched his head, staring at the piece of clothing kept in the manner of wedding dresses, exposed as if it were a relic.

"I don't know. Maybe the dress of someone who had their honeymoon here in this room. Man, it's a historic inn, remember?"

"I hope that the food they serve here is worth sleeping facing the Corpse Bride's dress." The older man muttered, dropping his things and choosing his bedside.

And in the shower tonight, his vision blurred as the water fell and his hand reached to his tumescent dick as he was imagining himself there again. Just feeling Sam's breath bent over him, his tiny fingers holding tight his neck _open your mouth_, he had said, and _Dean is my doll_. And Dean knew his perverted mind was distorting every word and act, but the feeling was so exciting and then he remembered that when he tried to leave the state of languor and pleasure, and looked through the curtain of his lashes, there was Sam's sweet and concerned look… a look of love, a look that he never forgot and which no other can compare. He put his hand on the cold tile and the other worked frantically wondering that, now today there was the same grasp, the same look... And it was even better to think of Sam's hands now, Sam and his big and strong hands, touching Dean's face like that. Dean slid his hand over his hard cock with more force now and leaned back against the wall with a cold strange pleasure from the shock, choking with the pleasure and coming suddenly and then he was thinking that he really wanted it all again. Dean wanted to be owned by someone; wished to be Sam's property.

...

"Dean, what the hell, will you stop it?" Sam sleepily mumbled, feeling the weight on the mattress sway while his brother was rearranging himself on by his side for the hundredth time.

"I cannot sleep, dude."

He heard the confession in a muffled voice, fully awake. Sam took a few seconds to digest it in his numb and sleepy mind, but when understood, it woke him up completely.

"But ... why?"

The older brother sighed and took a while to respond, and that meant a lot.

"It's ... It's the dress, Sammy. I cannot sleep with that old and dreadful dress staring at me."

"Dean, dresses do not stare. How can anyone be afraid of a dress? And man, you're a hunter!" Sam was a little surprised and amused at the same time.

The older man did not answer this time and Sam raised his chest, leaning on one arm, to face his brother. His green eyes glowed in the dark, wide open, and Dean's perfect face was illuminated by the moonlight coming through the window.

"I bet that insomnia is from indigestion, it is. After all that you ate tonight ..."

Dean quickly turned his gaze from the dress to his brother's face, then turned to face the clothing in front of him again. Sam stifled a laugh, got up and went to the wall where the piece was. He plucked the dress from the wall.

"Uh, look how scary! Booooohohohoo!" he sneered, looking at his brother and stroking the satin. But he did not expect the sensation would carry him back to Dean wearing a nightgown in his early teen years. He immediately got aroused, looking at his brother under the duvet. Dean was just watching his movements.

There was something in Dean's eyes, something in the air, something between them and Sam knew what it was. It was something that happened every day between them in such minimal fractions of seconds that it could go unnoticed. But this time it stretched as if time is stretched too. It was the need that one had for the other and it had so many layers that all mingled in with a million other things. Sam did not think there was a way to define it. But today, undoubtedly he knew that Dean wanted him, just as he had always wanted Dean.

He went back to bed, bringing the dress with him, placing it between them and facing his brother's eyes. All the time. He walked into those eyes, and the eyes of Dean were not something to be deciphered; He extended his hand to the neck of the older, running his thumb across the jugular, feeling the skin crawl and shiver under his touch, the fine tiny hairs standing on end.

"Sammy ..." Dean begged, and Sam knew it was fear of losing control. He put his other hand on his brother's face, ran his fingers over Dean's lips while the other was still playing with the big vein. His left thumb played through the slit between those lips, until he saw a flash of Dean's perfect teeth, and slid the tip of his thumb between them.

"Shhhh Dean. Let me take care of you..."

Dean closed his eyes and Sam can feel the warmth that began to emanate from the body of his brother, and leaned over him, kissing his head and getting involved with one arm in a possessive and protective embrace, their bodies coming together and bringing together the satin dress between them.

Sam slid over depositing kisses on the forehead, eyebrows, eyelids, each of them, the well-designed cheeks of his brother; feeling within himself the growing desire and realizing by the way that Dean locked his arms around his body that they would not be stopping this anytime soon. Then he kissed the tip of the nose, feeling Dean's breathing quickening, feeling his hard body against Sam's, only that suggesting satin dress separating their bodies.

But now they were adults and knew that there were other ways to express it. Now they needed that. He took Dean's mouth, that mouth that troubled him, that mouth that made him a mad for lips and mouths. Dean's lustful lips, the full lips of Jess, the mouth of Dean where he could now play with the tongue, could bypass the design of those lips with the tongue, could separate them with the tongue, could dive the tongue into it. Could have it. His.

"Uhn... delicious..." he spoke, muffled. Dean just allowed him to dive in, fingers twitching against the fabric on the back of Sam's tee, his legs tangling up in Sam's.

Sam was surprised at how languid, loose Dean was in his arms. When he searched by air and buried his face in his brother's neck, kissing the prominence of his clavicle under the skin. When his hands slid to his chest and the sides of his ribs, drawing Dean tee up in the process, Sam knew that Dean would lose control this time.

"Uh ..." just the thought that Dean had this confidence in him made his cock throb painfully and Sam jerked his hip against his brother's body, rolling with pure desire. Sam could hear Dean panting, doing the same.

"Would you be mine?" Sam asked in his ear, not resisting and taking the earlobe into his mouth, sucking, his hand up under Dean's shirt and touching his hard nipples.

Dean groaned arching his head back and bringing their pelvises together, jerking down, muttering something like _ohmygod_ and _ahan_. Sam would rather think that he had heard it, anyway.

"Yeah? That's what you said? Are you mine, Dean?" down the mouth by his neck, licking, sucking, dropping a hand over his brother's hip, down again, feeling his firm, tight ass, feeling goose flesh and pressing it hard, his hand cupping it.

"Oh, ahan, yeah." Dean gasped, his hand also slipped around Sam's back, sending the most hallucinating shivers through him again. Sam bent to kiss him with more desire, pulling Dean's boxers down without the slightest qualms, bringing his hand forward slowly, exploring the sensitive skin of his brother to Dean's thighs, while he found the satin fabric again and used it to fondle Dean's nipples softly.

"Good..." Dean groaned, gasping and letting Sam do what he wanted.

"My doll..." Sam stopped everything just to watch Dean's face dominated by sensations. He could be beautiful in every moment, his swollen lips more desirable now and totally pornographic.

"Touch me, please ..." Dean cracked open his eyes, bright and dilated pupils making him the sexiest creature alive on the planet.

"Ohmygosh, you're beautiful, Dean." Sam whispered, completely in love. He had no idea if tomorrow or in the next 15 years things would change or simply be forgotten as they were until today. But they simply could no longer avoid it. He let his fingers reach Dean's erect and throbbing hard cock, which trembled at the moment. He knew that the last minutes of Dean rubbing his body against the satin had turned him on at his maximum. He began slowly, shyly caressing, feeling the contractions of Dean's body, his own body needing immediate attention; sometimes it seemed that he would simply orgasm at any time, almost losing consciousness and struggling to control himself. Just to see each of Dean's reactions. Dean was incredibly sexy, every move, every breath of air we took, every look, he was perfect in everything.

Then gradually taking over Dean's hardness while maintaining a rhythmic movement, he kissed his chest, licked his nipples so hypersensitive then moved his tongue down Dean's perfect body.

"Oh hell Sam no..." Dean tried to stop him because he would not hold up so much pleasure. It was all new and scary and he felt as if he were in a free fall from a two hundred story building, preparing to die after that, and was so satisfied and free!

Sam did not listen. He just looked up at Dean when he arched his body trying to stop him. Sam had already crossed the territory of his navel and looked with desire at the throbbing cock in his hands. Sam's eyes were smiling, bright, and Dean threw his body back again, against the mattress, knowing that it was time to yield.

"Oh yeah, Dean. You're mine. I'll play the way I want to." Sam began by giving a kiss on the head of Dean's penis, and another and another, and then his tongue began to play around slowly, provocatively, Sam computing each reaction proceeding from the body of his big brother. Then he took it all in his mouth, latching a hoarse, muffled cry by Dean. "Oh fuck God, this is...!"

His brother's taste was good, and Sam found a way to get the rhythm of it fast, loving the sensation, loving to give all that pleasure to Dean. But he was definitely very tight in his own boxers and got rid of them with his free hand, without abandoning his task, beginning to masturbate himself frantically. His tongue slipped into Dean's balls and then further down, stimulating and making Dean literally buck with pleasure.

"Dean ... I need you now." Sam warned. He could no longer bear the desire to be inside of Dean, to possess him completely, to consummate his possession- to come inside him. Latched to slide his body on top of Dean, rubbing their erections against each other; he took his mouth with lust. Dean lifted his body, offering his neck, with his legs hooked around Sam's waist, asking for him. It just left Sam crazy, that lustful languor and both knew that Dean was Sam's since ... Forever, perhaps. But it was that fact's acceptance by both, which they could no longer run from, not for one more day, not even if they wanted to. And Sam knew that for a long time he did.

Not today. So they had not yet been lovers and never before had considered the possibility of that becoming reality. But now Sam put two fingers in Dean's mouth again. And Dean voluptuously slicked with ease, as if his life depended on it, looking straight into the eyes of his brother, sensuously. Sam immediately felt a throb throughout his body and fought to control himself at the totally hot sight. He wouldn't last longer, it was fact. So with fingers covered in saliva, he looked for Dean's spot, invading and moving carefully, feeling his reaction and heat; starting a rhythmic back and forth while pushing his pelvis against Dean's, their erections together at the same pace.

The oldest gasped, speechless. Forehead and chest dotted by tiny glowing beads of sweat, as well as Sam's. The swollen lips parted searching by air and occasionally being ravaged by the hungry mouth of the youngest.

Then Dean asked, not with words, but with his cracked eyes look. Sam replaced the fingers with his hard as iron cock, slowly, with the deepest care; until he felt his brother's body to push against his, capturing him all inside. He clung to the older like he was drowning, choking, breathless. The feeling was so intense that he lost the notion of who he was. He joined Dean's mouth with more searing kisses, mad, moving and thrusting inside him and crashing his body in one insane grasp.

"Mine." Sam whispered, his eyes two blind slits, intoxicated by the smell and the warmth and the love of Dean.

"Y-yours." Dean at his limit, came in waves of pleasure, the spasms of his body pushing Sam to his own come, there, inside, a flooding, invading and marking, the moans of one another mingling and mixing until their bodies began to relax. Breaths began to return to normal rhythm. The breathless dizziness fainting.

Then Sam and Dean entwined in a love embrace, spooning themselves. Sam kissed Dean's neck, controlling the desire to bite it and mark him.

Didn't want to hurt Dean. Ever.

"Dean?"

"Huh?"

"We came on the hotel's dress." Sam was serious, but then ended up chuckling. Dean followed him.

"But it's a fucking wedding dress. Someone must have done it before, right?"

They laughed again, nesting for the night.

The next morning, Dean woke up with Sam putting lipstick on his lips.

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TO BE CONTINUED

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	3. Epilogue

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EPILOGUE

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_**Pyerpoint Inn, Cornwall, Connecticut**_

In the hotel room, after Sam comments on the deaths that occurred in the place, Dean interrupts. Again the same subject he dislikes:

"Of course, the most troubling question is, why do these people assume we're gay?"

Sam looks up calmly. "Well, you are kind of butch. But I think you're overcompensating."

Dean forces a smile, confused and embarrassed, not knowing exactly what to say. Then just concludes. "Right."

In the hallway on the way towards the private room of the owner, Sam notices a vase. With the same quincunx pattern they saw on the skull at the entrance of the hotel. "Hey. Look at that."

"More Hoodoo." Dean says, but keeps conclusions for later. The brothers knock on the door of Mrs. Susan Thompson, slightly hesitant because the 'Private' warning on the porch. The hotel owner appears solicitous, promptly.

"Hi. Everything okay with your room?"

The brothers cannot avoid the classic unison: "Yeah, yeah. Everything's great. "

"Good."The owner of the hotel notices that Dean keeps giving glances into the room behind her back, while the younger seems a bit nervous. "Well, I was just in the middle of packing, so…"

They knew that when the Pyerpoint Inn got sold, something that the owner seemed to want to do soon, the family would leave. But the case of mysterious deaths still needed to be investigated and the best way to start it was to question the owner. Although they had gotten a nice surprise of a dress hanging in the room in which they were staying. Dean had, at least.

But now Dean sees something behind the woman which leads him to forego a smile immediately:  
"Hey, are those antique dolls? Cause this one here… he's got a major doll collection back home. Don't you? Huh?"

Sam caught by surprise, cannot avoid becoming flustered. Damn Dean!

"Big time." Sam says grudgingly.

"Big time." Dean smiles suggestively to Sam and then to the hotel owner. "You think we could come in and take a look?"

The woman is embarrassed, and reluctant:

"I don't know."

"Please?" Dean insists with his best smile. "I mean, he _loves_ them. He's not gonna tell you this, but he's always dressing them up in these little, tiny outfits, and you'd make his day. She would, huh? Huh? "he turns to the youngest, who is so embarrassed he does not know how to act. He only agrees, mortified:

"It's true."

Dean does not hide his grin.

END

* * *

**_Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. Much less the epilogue scene, taken from the episode Playthings, season 2. I didn't alter anything of the scene, however._**

**_Reviews are welcome!_**


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